


Back To Bed

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Affection, F/M, Gift Fic, M/M, Massage, Sleeping Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:38:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21940381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: T'was the night before Hogswatch...
Relationships: Sybil Ramkin/Havelock Vetinari/Samuel Vimes
Comments: 4
Kudos: 65





	Back To Bed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gemothy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gemothy/gifts).

> Merry Christmas, Gem!

Sybil was still fast asleep, her breathing loud and even and rumbling in Vimes’ ears, and he was ordinarily – to his own surprise – lulled to sleep by it. The bed was, however, lacking one inhabitant, and Vimes slowly crawled to the edge of the bed, stumbling slightly as he stood from the bed, moving out of the darkened room and out into the chamber that adjoined it.

It was a foolish idea to Vimes, in the beginning. To have the room with the bed in it separate from the room in which you dressed and sat and did paperwork, and separate again to the cavernous bathroom…

But it was useful, now, on the nights where he brought home paperwork to do before he could join Sybil in bed, that the candle not bother her. It was useful, now, seeing Vetinari neatly sitting upon the window seat, a book of poetry loosely settled on his knee, although he wasn’t reading from it.

His eyes were distant, and Vimes wondered if he were actually seeing the sprawling city beneath them, or seeing something else entirely.

“We keeping you up?” Vimes asked, and Vetinari did not turn his head toward him, but his eyes refocused, and Vimes saw that they focused on Vimes’ reflection in the glass of the frosted window. “Or are you hoping to catch a glimpse of the Hogfather?”

“He’s already been by, according to your son’s schedule,” Vetinari said softly. “Young Sam did calculations.”

“And you verified them?”

“No, but Drumknott did,” Vetinari murmured, and Vimes laughed quietly, taking a step forward and sliding his hand over the back of Vetinari’s neck, dragging his thumb gently down the nape of it. “I’m sorry to have worried you, Sam.”

“Can’t sleep?”

“My mind will not cease its work,” Vetinari said, and Vimes pressed a little bit harder on his shoulders, his thumbs digging into the muscle, and Vetinari’s hand fluttered on the book, but he tipped back into Vimes’ hands rather than drawing away. “Ah, Sam—”

“Come on, Havelock,” Vimes murmured, and squeezed, feeling himself grin at the way Vetinari actually _hissed_. “Back to bed.”

It took time. He sandwiched Vetinari between himself and Sybil, this time, and worked on his shoulders, drew more little gasps and almost-noises out of him, muffled against the back of his hand, until Vetinari’s head grew heavy on the pillow, and fell down there. Vimes looked at Sybil’s sleeping face, full of easy, beatific peace in sleep, her cheeks round, her nose broad and flat, her lips curved into a soporific smile; he looked at Vetinari, the complete opposite, his features all harsh angles and lines, his lips in a loose line, although it wasn’t quite a frown, when he slept.

Vimes smiled to himself, interlinking his fingers with Sybil’s, and their hands rested on the jagged edge of Vetinari’s hip between them. Vimes closed his eyes, and let himself sleep.


End file.
